The Consulting Criminal Detective Agency
by GallifreyenCultOfSkaro
Summary: Irene shows up, alive, at 221B. What happens to her and Sherlock now? And just who is Cynthia Lewis, and what is her connection to Moriarty? Just something to inspire me when I get writer's block. Each chapter is 100 words. Irene x Sherlock
1. Good Morning, Doctor Watson

Early morning in 221B. Silver-gold light streams gently through the windows. John Watson is not-so-gently roused from sleep by a loud knocking at the door.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" he yells, stumbling out of the bedroom, only half-wrapped in his dressing gown. _Knock. Knock!_ "Okay!"

The door swings open and she walks in, already making herself at home. Dark hair swings down her back, large eyes analyse the room. The clothing says a tourist seeking sun, but the army doctor knows otherwise.

John splutters incoherently. "What...the _hell_..."

Irene Adler turns and smiles. "Good morning, Doctor Watson. Is the detective in?"


	2. All In Good Time

"You...you...you're dead, you were _dead_! He said, Mycroft said, you were beheaded in Karachi!"

Irene dismisses him with a casual wave of her hand. "All in good time, my dear. Sherlock?"

As if he's been cued, Sherlock wanders in, eyes darting round the room, taking in the scene. "You might want to close your mouth, now, John."

John does so.

The consulting detective turns his gaze back to the dominatrix, currently making herself at home in his armchair. She raises one eyebrow delicately, as if challenging him to move her.

"Ah, Irene. I was wondering when you might drop by."


	3. Come To Me

Irene smiles again. "I take it you received my text, then."

Sherlock doesn't even blink, his voice is a monotone. "Yes."

A slight pursing of the lips. "You never replied."

No change. "And?"

Slightly widened eyes. Too wide to be genuine. "Didn't you miss me, Mr. Holmes?"

"Naturally."

"But not enough to call?"

"I saved you from terrorists."

"And you didn't even bother to arrange a second date."

This time, his eyes flicker up slightly. "I didn't need to." Here, a slight smirk. "I knew you'd come to me."

She took a step closer to the detective. "Is that so?"


	4. Tea

John is spared further awkwardness as Mrs. Hudson comes hurrying up the stairs, pausing briefly to knock.

"Yoo-hoo." She stops when she catches sight of the detective and the dominatrix, less than an inch between them, and a very red-faced doctor standing to the side. "Bad time?"

Sherlock turns quickly, as though nothing is out of place. Perhaps, to him, it isn't.

"Mrs. Hudson, we have a visitor. We'll be needing some tea."

Mrs. Hudson shakes her head fondly. "I'm your _landlady_, dear, not your housekeeper."

John sighs. "You could always make it yourself."

He's already heading into the kitchen.


	5. She's Back

Meanwhile, on the London Eye, a young woman with a bushy red ponytail sends a text.

_She's back._

_Cynthia Lewis. x_

A moment later, a reply.

_Don't bore me with trivia._

_M_

She sighs and taps out a new message.

_I've been watching them._

_Cynthia Lewis. x_

Her phone softly buzzes.

_Don't._

She sighs again, and returns the pone to her pocket. Of course; the woman and the detective are _his_ call. _His_ responsibility.

Not to worry. Cynthia Lewis is very, very used to having her own way.

And she'll be damned if he's going to have all the fun.


	6. Speculoos

In a nice little flat in central London, a consulting detective is drinking tea with the most dangerous woman in the city. She eyes him over her chocolate noir biscuit, he keeps his gaze fixed as he sips a lapsang soushong. John and Mrs Hudson hover awkwardly, sipping English Breakfast with a dash of milk and nibbling at Speculoos. In time, Irene will unfold her arms and smile a Devil's smile and tell them how Sherlock helped her escape. He'll sigh and deduce, and move the conversation on with a wave of his hand.

Life in 221B will go on.

**Author's Note: From now on, I'll be alternating each drabble between the 221B lot, and Cynthia & 'M'.**


	7. Two Somethings and a Sniper

He had been sitting in the rain for little over four hours when she showed up. Like a ghost, she appeared through the misty rain and took a seat next to him on the park bench, lighting a sodden cigarette.

"You don't smoke." he observed.

She shrugged. "Neither do you. Most days." Here, a wink.

"He got his eye on something again?"

"_Two_ somethings."

"Oh, let me guess. The detective, and...?"

She rolls her eyes. "Irene Adler. You took care of that man for me, Seb?"

"Clean shot, straight through the heart. " the sniper replies.

Cynthia's mobile phone rings.


End file.
